Streets Shorts: Between the Cases
by meixel
Summary: A collection of mostly humorous one shots with emphasis on banter and light hearted conversation. Each chapter will contain a complete ficlit, which was generally inspired from a writer's challenge or some other absurd situation.
1. Just Desserts

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Streets of San Francisco and make no profit on anything related to the series or characters. All is done for enjoyment and writing skill development.

This was done as a result of a variation on a writer's challenge. The challenge was to have one character maim the other. The twist was that I wanted one character to 'think' they maimed the other.

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**Just Desserts**

by Meixel

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"I can't believe you 'bet' me to do that," Mike grumbled as he got into the passenger side of the Ford LTD. "I feel like we should go somewhere now and have a 'real' meal."

Entering the driver's side, Steve replied, "I didn't think you would do it. All this time, you've eaten nothing but anchovy covered pizzas, chili and hotdogs. You realize that lesser men have died eating what you eat. But if I had known it would be this easy to get you to eat vegetables or a salad, I would have 'bet' you a long time ago."

"Jeannie won't know what to think. She gave up feeding me salads years ago. At some point, we figured I'd go into some sort of fibroid shock if I ate one," Mike chuckled.

"Fibroid?" Steve choked back a laugh, but instead grinned in response. "Are you sure?"

"Fibroid, fiber. What's the difference?" Mike said as he loosened his tie. He let out a slight groan.

"You okay?" Steve asked.

"I - uh - I don't know. I feel kind of strange." The senior detective's voice began to quiver as he clutched his chest.

"Mike?" Steve looked over with great concern.

"It must have been the…radicchio." Mike put his hands up to his chest and then keeled over, leaning against the car door.

"Mike?" Steve shouted. "The radicchio? Jesus, Jeannie's going to kill me. Oh my God, can you hear me? Wake up!"

Steve quickly moved over next to Mike and tried to take the pulse in his neck. "No, no," he whispered to himself. "No, please…" Feeling a rather strong pulse, Steve let out a sigh of relief and then decided to take Mike to the hospital. He needed to radio in their status first and reached over to grab the mic to contact dispatch. Suddenly, he felt a sharp tug at his wrist.

"I'm generally an iceberg man myself." Mike opened his eyes and smirked at his partner.

"What?! Iceberg? That was a joke?" Steve's greeted Mike with a look of bewilderment and hurt. "It wasn't funny."

Mike chuckled. "You should have seen your face. Jeannie's going to kill you all right, for making her old man eat a salad. Ha!"

The young man straightened himself behind the steering wheel. Within the span of three seconds, he went from sheer panic to relief to anger to plotting his revenge. Steve's eyes watered slightly and he swallowed hard.

"Hey, it was just a joke. Don't take it so hard." Mike's laughter faded and he became conciliatory.

"It's okay," Steve replied quietly. He looked over at Mike with large eyes and then did his best to exude vulnerability. "It's just…well, my dad died after choking to death on an…an anchovy. It was horrible. He was eating a slice of pizza and pulled the anchovy off and popped it in his mouth. Next thing I knew, he was gone. I was only five." The young man turned away and looked out the driver's window.

Mike was stunned and didn't know what to say. Steve rarely spoke of his family and the older detective figured that something must have happened to his parents.

The young man continued. "Every time we order a pizza and you sit there eating those anchovies, I just hold my breath. Honestly, I can't take it anymore." Steve fought hard not to break into laughter.

"Steve, I knew you didn't like anchovies because you pick them off, but I had no idea about your father. I'm really sorry. You should have said something earlier."

"Of course, mom did okay. She hooked up with the green grocer down the street. We had salads every night since they married. Even radicchio." Steve answered Mike's guilty look with a smirk of his own.

Mike sat in stunned silence for the second time in as many minutes until he shook himself back to reality. "So your father's okay?" Mike then asked.

"Dad? Yeah, he ran off to Brazil with his secretary when I was ten. I haven't seen him in years, but he's fine."

"Are you still kidding me?"

"Nope. He's with a different woman now, but he lives in Argentina."

Mike sighed. "A real Romeo. Well, at least the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree," he said as he ruffled the young man's hair.

"Did you just call me a fruit?" Steve feigned exasperation.

"Well, I do think you're a little bananas sometimes."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Okay, enough. I've learned my lesson. No more salads for you. We'll go back to Mama's and I'll just watch you eat your chili dogs topped with anchovies and pray that Jeannie won't be an orphan before she's twenty-five."

"And I won't fake an attack again. I promise."

"Good." Steve agreed as he turned the ignition and pulled out of the restaurant parking lot.

"Good." Mike agreed. And while he would feel badly about the scare he gave Steve at least for a little while longer, Mike realized that his partner wouldn't have reacted so strongly if he didn't care. Hell, he wouldn't have bet Mike about eating the salad if he didn't care. The idea that his partner cared made him feel happy. And when he was happy, his appetite was front and center.

"How about dessert, Buddy boy? I know a place that serves a mean pecan pie."

"Pecan pie? Do you have any idea how bad that is for…" Steve paused. "Nevermind. Okay, just tell me how to get there."


	2. Earthquake Drill - 1970

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Streets of San Francisco and make no profit on anything related to the series or characters. All is done for enjoyment and writing skill development.

Inspired by a practical joke someone played at my office one time.

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**Earthquake Drill - 1970**

Twenty-five-year old Steve Keller let out a very deep and frustrated sigh. As part of the Homicide team for the past four months, the young detective was the brunt of teasing and practical jokes. Indeed, the behavior of his colleagues reminded him of some fraternal initiation.

The latest humiliation was being named the wing's 'Safety Officer'. While he didn't dispute safety being important, he was now forced to where a bright orange helmet and vest during drills or safety activities the department had. The whole exercise made him feel ridiculous and his coworkers knew it.

Captain Olsen heard the young man had been the subject of light-hearted teasing and one day asked him about it as the pair walked down the hallway. While the captain didn't have a problem with his men having a little fun at the young man's expense, he didn't want it to get out of control.

"How are the men treating you, Steve?" Rudy asked directly.

"Oh, it's okay, I guess. I'm sure I'd be the same way if someone new started."

"Someone new who was a dozen or more years younger than the next fellow…" Rudy added.

Steve chuckled. "I know that has a lot to do with it. Believe me."

"Did you ever figure out who put the pacifier on your desk?"

"No..."

"Or who left that copy of "Fun with Dick and Jane" on top of your files?"

"No…"

"Or put the crayons in your pencil holder?"

"No…"

"Swapped your coffee for Ovaltine?"

Steve sighed. "No, but I think they've all had a hand it in."

"You know, I haven't shaken things up in the department in a while, let's you and I talk…" Rudy led the young man back to his office.

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It was early the next morning. Mike was in a briefing with Rudy. With no new cases, the squadroom was empty except for the four policemen who were knee deep in paperwork. Lessing and Sekulovich were typing away, while Healey and Haseejian were chatting near the coffee maker.

All eyes shifted to the door as Steve walked in, fully attired in his orange safety gear with clipboard in hand.

"Didn't you hear the announcement? Earthquake drill!" the young man informed.

"What are you talking about? There was no announcement." Haseejian countered.

"There must be something wrong with the intercom. I need to report that," Steve wrote the note on his clipboard. "But right now, you need to get under your desks for the drill. Hurry! The captains are doing the inspections this time."

"Damn drills," Healey grumbled. "A guy can't get a decent cup of coffee around here without having to hide under his desk."

The other men followed suit and crawled into the small space under their respective desks. Haseejian, in particular, had a difficult time fitting his large body into the space which normally occupied his legs.

Steve smiled as he saw the sight. "Thanks, guys. This should all be over with in a couple of minutes." He turned around and exited the squadroom, forcing himself not to laugh or even smile. He walked past Rudy's office as he doffed the safety vest and hat. He loudly cleared his throat as he past the door.

"Mike, I have another meeting to go to," Rudy abruptly looked at his watch.

"Okay, Rudy. I'll catch up with you later." The older detective rose from his chair and began walking back to his squad room.

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Mike stood in the middle of the seemingly empty Bureau of Inspectors. What had happened to his men? Cups of coffee sat on the desks. Papers were left in typewriters. Yet, now everyone was gone. Had something happened to where they had to respond to a case? Surely someone would have called him.

Mike placed his hands on his hips while surveying the room. "Where are you guys?" the man uttered to himself. Suddenly, he heard a sneeze.

"What the…" Mike said as he walked over to where he heard the sound. "Anybody here?"

Rudy and Steve slipped through the door and watched the scene unfold quietly from the corner, while Mike tried to figure out the mystery.

"Earthquake drill, boss," Healey said as he remained under his desk.

Steve turned his head to hide his smirk.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mike bellowed. "There is no earthquake drill. What are you idiots doing?"

"Mike, the intercom system isn't working. But yes, there's an earthquake drill. Steve was just here and…" an obedient voice uttered under Lessing's desk.

With Mike's back to them, Rudy choked back a laugh as he saw how exasperated his second-in-command was. Steve held his breath until his eyes began to water.

"I just came back from Rudy's office. Let me assure you that no one is hiding under their desks in his area." Mike countered. "Get out from under those desks now!"

Rudy snorted and Mike turned around. Steve couldn't suppress the giggle that slipped out. The two men broke out into laughter.

"What the…" Mike said again for the second time that morning. He glared at the two men laughing but then became distracted by the grunts and cracking sounds he was hearing as the men crawled out from under their desks.

Rudy looked at the young man. "I told you I wanted to shake things up here. What better way than an earthquake drill?"

A smile broke across Mike's face. It'd been a while since he'd seen that side of his captain. As the other men stood, they too saw the humor in the situation.

Except for Haseejian who hadn't quite made it out from the desk. Steve and Mike walked over to help the larger man up.

"Michael, carry on. The rest of you guys, have a great day." Rudy turned to exit still chuckling. "Oh, and before you think of retaliating against the kid here, let's just leave it be. That's an order. I deem the initiation to be over."

After the captain left, Lessing spoke up. "Steve, we're sorry. I guess we did get a little out of hand with the baby jokes."

"It's all right. I hadn't complained, by the way. I think Captain Olsen was just looking for a way to liven things up a bit," Steve was showing what a good sport he could be. "I do wonder how he'd heard about some of the pranks you pulled on me. He knew quite a bit of it."

Mike cleared his throat. "Okay, enough fooling around. Get back to work. All of you!"

As the Lieutenant watched his men return to their desks, he saw Rudy still watching through the door. Rudy flashed a quick thumbs up and Mike nodded his head. _Rudy's not the only one that likes to shake things up, _Mike thought to himself as he returned to his office and smiled.


	3. Last Night Was Such a Drag

I do not own anything to do with SOSF; writing is strictly for fun and development!

Thanks to all who have left a review on these little ficlets.

This one is the result of a writer's challenge. You'll see the wonderful Tanith's "Last Resort" has the same few paragraphs and mention of a red wig!

This story is set 2 years before the series began, not long after a young Steve began working for Mike.

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**Last Night Was Such a Drag**

San Francisco Police Department, 1970

A sense of relief poured over Lt. Mike Stone, as he looked up from his desk and saw his partner walk through the door. The twenty-five year old's stride showed that he was both celebratory and relieved to be back in the familiar confines of the Bureau of Inspectors office. His overnight undercover stint with Vice was short and successful. They had caught their man.

In Steve Keller's hand was a medium sized brown paper bag. He boldly approached Mike's office ready to accept the teasing he knew was coming. Arriving as early as he did, he was grateful that no one else was in the office at that early hour.

"Welcome back, Buddy boy. Good job on the assignment. I heard from Captain Miller that your work was exemplary," Mike greeted appropriately.

"Well, I'm just glad it's over. I can't believe what they had me do," he blushed at the thought. His tone quickly changed to accusatory: "Clearly you knew about it."

"Of course. Thankfully, our current caseload was light and Vice needed some assistance. Besides, this is the type of situation that eventually escalates to a murder. Two of those streetwalkers were attacked and beaten viciously," Mike defended. "How did you get along with the ladies anyway?"

"Carol and Brenda? They were great. I know they're cops, but they sure were believable as hookers."

"Did they show you the ropes?" Mike asked as seriously as he could.

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Here it comes,_ he wouldn't give Mike the satisfaction of being anything other than good natured. "Oh, they showed me quite a bit, but nothing to do with ropes. Carol had some chains, though."

"When I say 'show you the ropes' it had nothing to do with _that_. I just meant did they help you look, well, you know, the part."

Steve feigned ignorance. "Ah, I understand. Seriously, they did show me how to strut my stuff and to attract 'business'," Steve said as he rested his hands on his hips. "And that brings me to the one simple question I want to ask you: 'Why?'"

"Why what?"

"Why was I picked to go undercover as a call girl? Those two ladies were more than capable of handling any pervert or deviant coming their way. They didn't need any male assistance in drag."

"I'd rather be too cautious than not. Besides, you don't know how far that guy would have gone. Lenny said the suspect's profile suggested the attacks wouldn't end until someone was killed." Mike advised. "While those ladies are well trained, they are not at the level where I'd want them fighting off a potential killer by themselves."

"Uh-huh," Steve responded without a shred of faith in what his partner had just said.

"On top of that, I understand you made a, ahem, stunning woman." Mike envisioned what he'd been told by Captain Miller. Steve was on a street corner along with two undercover female officers posing as hookers. He was dressed in a stylish wig, a blue sequenced cocktail dress and low heels. "Let me guess, a brunette?"

"Redhead."

"No." The thought of Steve in a red wig genuinely trying to pass himself off as a woman was more than Mike could imagine.

"Yes." Steve added, "But in fairness, it was an auburn shade."

"You must have been a regular Rita Hayworth. Haseejian said…" Mike began, knowing full well that he was going to get a rise out of his partner.

Steve's voice jumped an octave. "Oh yes, let's talk about Haseejian. Whose bright idea was it to send him in as our pimp?"

"He had the suit."

"He had a zoot suit and a wide rimmed hat. What was that about? All he needed was a pocket watch on a gold chain."

"He had to keep tabs on you…ladies."

Steve sighed. It was an important assignment, but he still felt like the older officers took advantage of his slight frame and youthful features. Steve shifted the conversation to the case. "At any rate, we got our man. He fit our witness's description to a tee. Even had that tic they described. It was like he wanted to be caught."

"It happens sometimes. Who'd he pick up?"

"Brenda. She was a blonde and that fit the description of the other victims." Steve realized now that they had sent in Brenda, their best officer, as a blonde for a reason. "She took him back to the room we had at that seedy hotel. Norm, Carol and I went into the next room and listened in. He actually started to get rough with her. After she confronted him, he admitted to the attacks. We busted in and made the arrest before he could hurt her."

"Open and shut." Mike agreed.

"Let's hope. At any rate, I came in to finish my part of the paperwork."

"You didn't do it last night after the arrest?"

"Well, Brenda and Norm did. Carol and I stayed behind to help wrap up the crime scene investigation."

"And…" Mike could tell that there was more to this story.

The wheels in Steve's head began to spin resulting in a pronounced gleam in his eye. "And then Carol and I decided to go out for the evening."

Mike shook his head in disbelief. "You had a date? Did you at least go home and change clothes?"

Steve remained silent.

"What?" Mike looked at his protégé in disbelief. "You went out in drag?"

"I was respectable. We went to a bar. The Wicked Kitty."

"The Wicked Kitty? I've heard of that place. It's over in the Castro. Hey, that's a bar for women only. It's one of those…" Mike choked.

"Yeah," Steve laughed. "For my next life, I want to come back as a lesbian."

Mike was mildly irritated, greatly taken aback and totally intrigued. "Is Carol...um...one of those…?"

"No, and there'd be nothing wrong with that if she were." He continued to speak over Mike's harrumph. "But the fact was, she wanted to go just for fun. You know, people do things for fun sometimes."

"And you consider going to a gay bar in drag 'fun'? Buddy boy, I thought I knew you."

"I did it for Carol. She's a super girl. It was kind of a fantasy for her. I'm not the kind of guy to kiss and tell, but afterward, we went back to my place and…"

"Stop. Stop. Stop. I don't want to hear anymore," Mike protested.

"Chicks dig guys in drag. She was all over me. You know, I always thought chicks dug Norm. Imagine his action if he were in drag…" Steve had in his mind to continue rambling until he drove Mike crazy with mental images. It didn't take long.

"Steve, I mean it. I don't want to hear anymore." The senior detective raised his hands in protest.

"Okay, okay," Steve grinned. "But we got you something. Next to the bar, there was this shop. Wigs, for every occasion. In case you ever want to go barhopping in drag."

"Buddy boy, you are cruising for a bruising." Mike interrupted.

"Here, try it on." Steve pulled it out of the paper bag and swung it back and forth in front of Mike's face before dropping it on his desk.

"No, no and no," Mike stated firmly though his eyes never left his paperwork.

"Oh, come on, Mike! Where's your sense of fun?" Steve quipped with an exaggerated whine in his tone.

Mike stopped and saw that the wig was oddly familiar to him. _That fast food clown in the yellow suit and striped socks__, _he thought. Beginning to realize that he was pranked by his partner, he played along.

"My sense of fun? It went away when my sense of maturity kicked in," Mike replied with a wink as he tapped his temple for emphasis before returning his eyes to the top of his desk where his paperwork sat waiting to be completed.

"You mean, when you got old," Steve said slowly in a quiet voice. A sly grin spread across his face as he waited for Mike to respond.

Mike's head snapped back up at once and he glared at his partner through his glasses that threatened to shoot laser beams at the young man leaning over the front of his desk.

"Old_er. _That's what I meant," Steve feebly tried to mask the damage but it was clearly too late and he found himself dashing out of the office quicker than it took for the object hurled at him to hit the back of the door.

"Older, huh?" Mike shook his head then chuckled before sliding out of his seat. He walked toward the door then bent down and picked up the curly bright flame red wig off the floor.

He laughed out loud and started to put it on his head, just for a quick moment for Steve's amusement. "You really had me going there, Buddy boy. What did you do, really - head home after the arrest?"

Now sitting at his desk, Steve replied, "As fast as I could. My feet were killing me. Carol, Brenda, Norm and I met for a drink later. It wasn't The Wicked Kitty, but it was in that area." Steve couldn't help but laugh at the clown's wig now resting crookedly on Mike's head.

He stopped when he heard the door open behind him.

"What the devil is going on here?" Captain Rudy Olsen barked. Mike's boss turned around and left the room. "I don't want to know," he could be heard mumbling as the door shut behind him.

Mike quickly shed the wig and threw it at his partner, who at this point was bent over laughing uncontrollably.


	4. The Old Ballgame

I do not own SOSF or any of the characters. All writing is done for fun and development. No profit is made.

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This was from a writers challenge last fall (a story involving an injured nose - LOL!). Very short and hopefully provides a little amusement.

**The Old Ball Game**

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Carefully holding a steaming cup of coffee in his bandaged hand and a donut inthe other, Inspector Steve Keller entered his partner's office. "Mike, you wanted to see me?"

"You bet I do, Buddy Boy!" Mike snapped as he turned from his view of the window.

"What happened to you?" Steve asked, unable to hide a small smile frombreaking out at the corners of his lips. He took in the Lieutenant's heavilybandaged nose and suppressed a giggle.

"I see that smirk. You think it's funny, don't you?" Mike's bandages moved up and down as he spoke.

"I don't know what you're taking about. What happened?" Steve's voice cracked as he found it more and more difficult to keep a serious face around his partner.

"After you left to get your hand x-rayed, it was apparent that you weren't going to be able to make the Giants game."

"Yeah, who knew our suspect had a jaw made of steel?" Steve recalled the pain in his hand after he tried to subdue the man who was ultimately arrested for the murder of his boss.

"Or that your hand was made of glass…" Mike teased.

"I didn't break anything. It's just dislocated," Steve corrected. "The doctor popped my finger and knuckle back in and taped it together. I was good to go in no time."

"You could have made the game, then."

Steve sighed. "Why do I even bother? You do know that I came back and finished my report by typing with one hand? You were already gone by then."

Mike shrugged his shoulders as Steve continued. "At any rate, are you going to tell me what happened or what? Why are you wearing such a huge bandage on your nose?"

"Well, I figured since you weren't going to make it, I'd find someone else to go with."

"Okay, who?"

"Well, neither Lee nor Bill could make it. And Norm had a date, believe it or not."

"I believe it. Chicks dig him," Steve noted very matter-of-factly.

Mike was momentarily speechless, but then continued. "And then I remembered Lenny. You know, we still owe him for making him do all that research on the Air Force case the other week."

"Oh, _we_ do, do _we_? If I recall, it was you who forgot he was still working on the case after we solved it the day before."

"Wiseguy."

"So what happened?" Steve still pressed.

"So what happened was I called Lenny and asked him if he wanted to go to the game. The Cardinals were in town, so you know it'd be a good contest. I mean, just to see Lou Brock steal a base or the Mad Hungarian talk to himself on the mound, it's worth the price of admission."

"Yeah, yeah - you have a thing for the Cardinals for reasons I don't understand, but that has nothing to do with how you hurt your nose. Get on with it."

"All right. So, Lenny went and you know we had good seats off the first base line. It was the third inning and we were just kicking back with some good food and beverage when Willie McCovey hit a line drive foul."

"Don't tell me…"

"I had beer in one hand and a hot dog in the other and it all happened so fast."

"Mike, if your nose was nailed by a Willie McCovey line drive, I'm surprised you have a snout left at all. I mean, if there was a contest between your probiscus and a baseball…now, granted they are the same size, but…"

Mike interrupted. "You are cruising for a bruising, Buddy boy. Now let me finish."

"Proceed."

"Lenny, our coordinated psychiatric friend, decided to snatch the ball himself."

"And?"

"He lost his balance and knocked over the guy next to us, who in turn spilled beer on his girlfriend."

"Oh, was she okay?"

"Nobody cared about her…it was the beer and the guy was livid. He was a foot taller than Lenny and I thought he was going to pound him into the ground. So I stepped in and the guy punched me in the nose."

"Wait a minute, you're telling me that some guy decked you at the ballpark? What happened after that?"

"Security came and escorted all of us out. Lenny, me, the guy and his girlfriend. I think the guy would have gone after us again, but I showed him my badge."

Steve chuckled. "You got kicked out of Candlestick Park? Mr. Straight N. Narrow Stone was forcibly removed from a Giants game? Ha!"

"Oh, you are asking for it…" Mike was grinning, but if given a chance, he would wring his junior partner's neck.

"And this is my fault, how?" Steve challenged him once more.

"Because you weren't there. Quite frankly, you would have caught the ball, saved the beer or both."

Unfazed by what appeared to be a compliment, Steve cheekily replied, "Yes, and I would have got the girl, too."


	5. Hook, Line and Sinker

A writer's challenge about Steve suggesting a recreational activity for Mike.

* * *

**Hook, Line and Sinker**

"The only thing I ever caught when we went fishing was a bad case of poison ivy. No, sir, it's not for me," Inspector Keller protested as he drove his partner home after a long day's work. The next day was a break for them both. Occasionally, they'd find something to do together on their day off, but usually with mixed results.

"Whaddaya mean, not for you? It's exactly what _you _need – the great outdoors. Fresh air!" barked Lieutenant Mike Stone.

"Fresh air…that's peppered with mosquitos and ticks."

"Ticks are not airborne, wise guy. They don't fly."

"No, but they drop from the trees like the spiders do," Steve flinched at the thought. "And let's talk about the swarm of water snakes that were in the cove last time. There were at least a dozen. Which concentric circle of hell did they come from?"

"It's just a part of the wildlife," Mike defended. "You know, Steve, me thinks you protest too much. The reality is you don't like to fish because you are no good at it. How many times did I see your reel tangled to the point where you had to cast by hand? Huh? How many times did you snag your lure and have to cut your line?"

Sitting at a stop light, Steve glared intently at the older detective and remained silent.

Mike, in turn, dodged the imaginary daggers thrown his way and continued. "Good fishing is an art, my boy; one that all those fancy college textbooks won't teach you."

"Okay, fine," the younger man acknowledged. "I'm a lousy fisherman."

"And a lousy bowler," Mike added.

Steve gasped, but then again conceded, "And I'm not a good bowler."

"No, you're a _lousy_ bowler," Mike affirmed.

"Fine." There was no arguing the point. Steve was embarrassingly clumsy on a bowling alley.

"And I can clean your clock in boxing," Mike added.

"I'm a lover, not a fighter," Steve smirked good-naturedly.

The older cop ignored the response. "And basketball. Thirty years on you, and I can outshoot you with a blindfold on."

Through clinched teeth, Steve suggested, "Then perhaps we can do something tomorrow that I'm good at."

"Like what? Pick up women?"

"You could learn a few things from me," Steve advised matter-of-factly.

"No."

"Tennis?"

"Too much sprinting back and forth; my knees couldn't take it."

"Skiing."

"Too far away and too cold. I don't like the cold."

"Golf."

"A rich man's sport."

Steve pulled the car up to the curb in front of Mike's home. He sighed as he got out, knowing they were no closer to deciding what they would do on their day off. They proceeded to walk up the steps to the front door.

"Okay, no athletics," Steve suggested. "How about spectator sports?"

"Baseball season hasn't started."

"No, but hockey is going full force. The Golden Seals are in town."

"They play in Oakland. Haven't you figured out by now that Oakland teams are lousy?" Mike asked as he challenged his partner. The young man was a well-known fan of the A's, Raiders and Golden Seals. Mike, in contrast, loved the Giants and '49'ers.

"They're _lousy_ too? That must be your word du jour," Steve huffed.

"I'll 'word du jour' you. Besides, my grandmother could beat them and she's been dead twenty years." Mike proclaimed.

"Okay, I give up. I guess we'll agree to disagree and go about our own way," Steve smirked. He felt relieved that at least he wouldn't be subject to the creepies and the crawlies in the woods.

As the pair of detectives entered Mike's home, Steve noticed camping and fishing gear on the sofa. Before he could say anything, he heard a familiar voice from the kitchen.

"Mike," Jeannie called out. "Is that you?"

"It sure is, sweetheart. Are you just about packed?"

"She's home?" Steve asked quietly.

"Spring break was a little early this year. She's home for a week," Mike said as he beamed brightly. "She wanted to go fishing with her old man."

Before Steve could respond, Jeannie walked in from the kitchen with an empty cooler she had been cleaning.

"Hiya, Steve. You're coming with us, aren't you?" Jeannie asked as she reached over to catch a kiss on the cheek from her father's partner.

Mike couldn't hide his grin. _Gotcha._

"Well, I don't want to take away any father/daughter time." Steve said as he looked back at Mike. _The perfect response._

"Oh, no, Steve. We'd love to have you come along. You're one of the family." She gazed sweetly at him with her crystal blue eyes. Mike was only beginning to appreciate their power on young men and he suspected his partner was not beyond their spell.

Feeling flush, Steve fumbled for an answer. "Well, umm, I'd need to go home and, uh, pack."

"That's perfect! We're not leaving until tomorrow morning. Come over around seven and I'll make breakfast."

Steve was in full blush mode. "Sure, I'll be here." He peered over to his partner but then at the last moment opted not to make eye contact.

"Don't forget the calamine. You never know when you'll run into some poison ivy." Mike reminded him. _She's got you, Buddy-boy. She's got you hook, line and sinker._


	6. Jeannie in a Bottle

I do not own SOSF, I Dream of Jeannie or any of the characters related to either show. No profit is made by any of my fan fic writing. It's done for skill development and entertainment.

Jeannie in a Bottle

It had been a long day on the streets of San Francisco, but it was by no means over. Recognizing the need for a break for himself and his young partner, Lieutenant Mike Stone invited Steven Keller to his home for dinner and coffee before they headed back to the night shift.

Mike's daughter, Jeannie, was home on break from her senior year of college and happy to see the pair as they walked through the front door. She had made a favorite of Mike's: meatloaf and mashed potatoes. It was a recipe from his late wife's kitchen. He savored every bite.

"Sweetheart, that was wonderful! Your mother would be so proud," Mike said as he beamed.

Steve also smiled and deeply appreciated the home cooked meal. Single, twenty-something year old men did not often partake in such homestyle cooking, so it, too, was a treat for him. He glanced over to Jeannie briefly and thought of what a talented young woman she was. Smart, sweet and no stranger in the kitchen – plus, he figured, she was also easy on the eyes. Who could ask for more?

"Why don't you kids go to the living room and watch some TV while I make some coffee," Mike suggested.

"Mike, I can do that," Jeannie announced.

"No, that will give me a chance to look at the handle on the coffee pot. I noticed it was a bit loose this morning. You two go on ahead," Mike countered. "Steve, we don't need to go back just yet. Maybe another half hour, okay?"

"Sounds good to me. I need a few moments to digest that good meal anyway," Steve added as he patted his stomach.

He followed the young woman through the swinging door that separated the kitchen and eat-in area from the living room and took a spot on sofa. Jeannie walked across the room and turned on the television set. She cranked the dial around as she noted the various programming. "The news is on most of the stations." Just then, a story broke of a violent nature. Fortunately, it was not local, but it was unsettling just the same.

"No news. No violence. How about something fun? Doesn't channel 13 show reruns of old shows?" Steve suggested.

Without comment, Jeannie turned the dial to "13". She smiled as she heard the familiar theme to "I Dream of Jeannie".

"I always liked the opening of this show. It's kind of fun," Jeannie commented as she took her place on the opposite end of the sofa from Steve.

"I was a fan of this show growing up. It was one of the few that got better when it went to color," Steve said as he remembered some of the early black and white episodes.

"He was cute, too." Jeannie remarked as she pointed to Major Tony Nelson.

"You know, I can't think of his name offhand, but he's a really good actor. Still, he sure reminds me of this guy we investigated a while back. He was a radio deejay," Steve recalled. "What was his name? Oh yeah: Terry Vine. What a jerk."

"What did he do?"

"Well, he was a suspect in a case, but it turns out he didn't do it. But the guy was such an ass, pure and simple."

"Terry Vine was a pig. I remember Mike talking about that case. Apparently, he really pushed your buttons," Jeannie teased. "But Major Nelson is a hunk," Jeannie reasoned.

"I don't know much when it comes to 'hunks' and guys, Jeannie. But she was always a big favorite of mine," Steve said as he pointed to the TV screen.

Jeannie shrugged. "Jeannie? She's okay."

"Okay? She's a living doll," Steve said with a note of exasperation.

"If you like perfect blonds with beautiful hair and a killer figure…"

"Guilty as charged," Steve said with a smile. "Okay, let me ask you this: Jeannie or Samantha?"

It was a question familiar to the generation who grew up watching 60's television. Which was the preference: Samantha Stevens, the beautiful witch who twitched her troubles away, or Jeannie, a knockout genie who could grant wishes with a quick blink?

"Without a doubt, Samantha," Jeannie said immediately.

Steve smirked at the rapid response. "That was quick. Why?"

"Samantha is smart and she's a servant to no one. She's strong and she's able to keep all of her goofy relatives in line."

"But what's wrong with Jeannie?" Steve asked knowing full well the lecture he was about to get.

"Jeannie? Why she calls her man 'master'. Need I say more? I think it's horrible," Jeannie announced as she stuck her nose in the air.

"I don't see what's so wrong with it. I wouldn't mind having a hot blonde babe living in a bottle at my place. She would come out when I need her and then go back in when I don't," Steve goaded.

"Why, Steven James Keller, I didn't know you were such a pig."

"Why, Miss Fancy Pants Stone, I didn't know you knew my middle name. And of course I'm a pig. I carry a badge."

"That's not what I meant," she gasped with a half grin. "You are a male chauvinist. Male. Chauvinist. Pig."

"I am a male. And, indeed, we males are guilty from birth of any number of things. So if I'm guilty, I might as well wish for what I'm not going to get," he said as he turned his head back to the television. "A hot blonde babe in a bottle."

"Men!" she nearly shouted at the detective and then turned her head back to the TV in a pout.

Steve was quiet for exactly six seconds and then slowly, in a sing-song voice said, "I think you're jealous. I think you want it to be a genie. Jeannie." He added her name for obnoxious emphasis.

"I do not," she said as she fixed a glare his way.

"You can't even say it," Steve prodded.

"Say what?" Jeannie demanded.

"Mas-ter," Steve teased. Jeannie wanted to wipe the smirk off his handsome, albeit currently insufferable, face.

"I won't say it."

"You _can't_ say it, Jeannie. You are so tightly wound with all of your women's lib talking points, that you can't take a joke or anything that's halfway lighthearted for fear it would set your cause back one hundred years." He knew he had crossed the line on this one and waited to learn his fate.

Jeannie stayed quiet with her mouth clamped shut. She knew that Steve was very much for women's rights and very progressive in his thinking. However, she also knew that when the two of them got together, they could get fairly rough with each other through teasing. At the moment, she was on the business end of some serious mocking.

"I can take a joke. After all, you're here," she countered with her wagging eyebrows high.

Steve's mouth dropped at the insult. "Oh, so it's going to be that way, huh?" he added playfully. He reached over and pretended to tickle her.

"Don't you dare!" she said as she jumped back in her seat.

"I won't…if you…call me master." He squinted his eyes and his nose at his prey.

She stuck her tongue out in response.

"Mas-ter," he whispered menacingly.

"Daddy, your partner is being a jerk!" Jeannie playfully called out to her father who was now in the garage getting a screwdriver to fix the handle on the coffee pot.

"I heard your dad go out to your garage two minutes ago. He can't hear you," Steve's voice was still in sing-song mode. "Now, which is it? Me tickle you until your father comes back or you folding your arms and doing your best "Jeannie" impression?"

"I'll give you a Jeannie impression, right in your jaw," she grinned as she made her threat.

"Violence is never the answer, my dear. Now…" he began as he scooted closer to his friend.

"Okay, okay." Jeannie folded her arms and began to do the famous Jeannie blink.

"Nope, not yet," he ordered. "You need to show a little bit of your midriff. Lift your shirt up a bit."

Now it was Jeannie's turn to drop her jaw. Jeannie pretended to gasp at Steve's flirting, and was actually happy with the mildly decadent request.

"Fine," she said as she loosely tucked the bottom of her shirt under the band of her bra. Then she folded her arms and said sarcastically, "Yes, Master."

"Say it nicer," Steve instructed.

"Yes, Master," Jeannie said grimly.

"Nicer," Steve repeated.

She sighed, squinted and then put on a sexy, alluring smile. "Yes, Master."

Steve spent a moment to simply take in the sight. The fact was he very much enjoyed her little show. His expression changed from the smart-assed smirk he displayed seconds earlier to one of interest and slight embarrassment.

She saw the look in his eyes and knew that reaction was what she wanted. They'd known each other for years and had a history of light hearted joking with each other. But of late, as Jeannie matured and Steve treated her more as an equal, the teasing had taken a slightly more risqué turn.

He cleared his throat. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Steve said as he sought to recover.

"No, Master," Jeannie pressed in a low sultry voice. She quickly adjusted her sitting position as she now was perched on her knees next to Steve. "What can I do to make thee happy? Shall I massage thy feet or give thee a shoulder rub?" She flashed her blue eyes in such a way that Steve nearly fell off the sofa.

He swallowed hard as he tried to respond. Jeannie had quickly gained the upper hand, and if he wasn't careful, he could inadvertently reveal how he really felt about his partner's daughter. Tonight was not the night for such a revelation.

He wanted to bolt for the kitchen, perhaps grabbing a nice cool drink of water in the process, and go wait for Mike in the car. Knowing he couldn't really do that, he decided to tap into the character of Major Nelson.

"Now, you know there, Jeannie, I think you've done quite enough tonight. Why don't you just rest yourself there?" Steve did an amazing Major Nelson imitation, down to the slight Texan drawl.

"But Master," Jeannie pleaded.

"Now, Jeannie. As your master, I order you to obey me." While Steve's voice mimicked Major Nelson, the smile now was all his.

The pair caught each other's glance and held it for what seemed an eternity. After a few awkward seconds, Jeannie simply said, "Well." She smiled shyly, untucked her knees and lowered her shirt to cover her midriff area, never once taking her eyes off of Steve.

"Well," Steve answered back as he watched her slip the material over her belly.

"Well," Mike said standing behind the pair holding a tray and three coffee cups.

Both Steve and Jeannie jumped. Steve looked over to Jeannie and tried to save the moment.

"Dr. Bellows!" he greeted, once again in character without missing a beat. "What a surprise!"

"I'll bet it was a surprise," Mike grumbled as he cast Steve a dirty look. Jeannie giggled as her "Master" blushed.

"Dr. Bellows, do not be upset with thee. Major Nelson was just trying to educate me, a poor genie living in a bottle all these years, on what men of his time look for in a woman."

"I don't even want to think about what that really means," Mike answered as he handed the couple their coffee. "Isn't there something else on? The news, perhaps? You don't have a problem with me switching the station, do you?"

"No," they both responded quietly but in unison. Play time was over. Mike quickly walked over and turned the channel.

"Good, I never was that big on "Jeannie". I was much more of a Samantha Stevens man myself," Mike commented as he sat down, wedging himself between his daughter and his partner.


	7. Hack Accompli

This one is not humorous, but it's a short one-shot ficlit just the same. It's written in 1st person from the perspective of a cab driver who briefly got on Mike's wrong side. It's also written in 'present tense', very different from my usual style. Hope you enjoy and thanks for your continued support.

* * *

**Hack Accompli**

"All right, hold it right there. Put your hands in the air and turn around slowly."

The stern voice catches me off guard, but I do as he says. As I carefully turn around, I find myself at the end of a .38 special and looking into the angry blue eyes of an older man in a raincoat and fedora. He's pissed and has reason to be. I'm standing in his living room looking at two people, bleeding and lying on his floor.

"I'm…" I begin, but the man's stare shifts to the pair, a young man and a younger woman. I see a large lump in his throat form as he swallows. "I'm a cab driver. That's my taxi outside. I brought that guy here," I say as I point to the man who is holding his hands over his lower abdomen. There's blood seeping through his fingers. He's conscious, but struggling to breathe and sweating profusely.

The older man looks back at me while still pointing his weapon. "What's your name?"

"Harry Tellman," I answer. "Look, the guy got out of my cab and came inside…"

What have I walked into? The gun in front of my face unnerves me to no end. The older man is angry, but there is something about him. I can tell he is rational, trying to figure out what all has happened.

I continue. "He said he had no money on him, but would come back with some. When he didn't return, I wanted to find out what was going on. I knocked on the door and noticed it was ajar, so I stuck my head in to see if I could catch the guy and get my cash."

The older man still has his gun fixed on me. Suddenly, another man, this one balding and dressed in a suit, comes through the front door. He, too, has a gun and stops as he sees me. Now I have two men pointing pistols my way.

"Mike, we saw the suspect fleeing from your back door. Tanner is in pursuit and we've got back-up…"

The bald man stops when he notices the couple on the floor. "Oh, I'll call for an ambulance," he adds solemnly. Looking back at me he asks, "Is this guy an accomplice?"

**Accomplice?** No, I'm just an everyday Joe trying to earn a buck – just a run of the mill hack.

"I don't know yet," the older man who had just been identified as "Mike" replies. "He says he drove Steve here in his cab and was looking for his fare." We both watch the third man leave the way he came. I don't understand why he isn't using the phone on the end table to get an ambulance.

Mike returns his attention to me. "I need you to turn around and put your hands behind your back."

"But.."

"No `buts'. They need attention," he says with a crack in his voice as he reaches for his handcuffs. "I'll sort you out later."

"You a cop, then?" I ask as I put my hands behind my back.

"Yes, I didn't identify myself, but you'll excuse me for that as I am in my own home." I hear the click of the cuffs around my wrists and know I have no other options for the moment. "Take a seat on the sofa and don't move."

Mike rushes to the pair. He gently lifts the girl into a sitting position. I can see blood smeared on her face as well as a large bruise forming on her cheek. He gives her a hug. "Are you hurt, sweetheart?"

"Oh, Daddy. It was Peter. He came over and wanted to talk. I thought it would be okay, but then he got angry. Before I knew it, he hit me. And then he got the knife. Oh, Daddy, if Steve hadn't come when he did, I don't know what would have happened. Steve tried to tackle him and knock the knife away, but Peter stabbed him and ran." She looks at the young man – I now have his name pegged as Steve - and starts to cry.

At that point, Mike, clearly the young girl's father, hunches over the man from my cab. "Hey, Buddy boy, what do you have going on there?" he says as he tries to lift Steve's hand away from the bloody wound near his stomach. The young man flinches and fights back.

"No," is his craggy response. "Hurts too much." He draws a deep breath and then tries to put on a braver face. I'm guessing it's for the girl's benefit. He struggles to sit up, but Mike pushes him back with his hand. "I'll be all right."

"Stay still," Mike instructs as he looks at the wound. "It doesn't look bad, but I don't want to take any chances." The older man fetches a towel from a nearby bathroom. Once again kneeling, he slides it underneath Steve's hands to cover the wound. "Okay, hold on to this tightly. Norm has called an ambulance. Guess you'll be making a round trip to the hospital, then?" Knowing nothing more he can do, he gives the young man's forearm a squeeze.

I see Mike sigh as he sits back and regains his composure. He glances at his daughter as she scoots closer to Steve and leans near his shoulder.

"Jeannie, are you sure you're okay? Peter didn't stab you or cut you somewhere?" Mike asks as he reaches for his daughter's chin. He looks distastefully at the blow she took at the hands of this `Peter'. The thought of this guy makes me angry and I don't even know him.

"He tried to. He tried to slash me," she describes as she moves her arm out mimicking what would have been the action. "He got my blouse," she says with a sob.

Mike looks at Jeannie's midsection. He sees the rip in her pink blouse and the scrapes on her skin. At that moment, I think Mike will explode. He turns around and glares at me, shooting daggers my way.

Out of nowhere the second man reappears. "Mike, Tanner and the other boys have caught the suspect. I'll keep a watch out for the ambulance and send it up. Are they okay?" he asks as he looks at the couple.

"I think so," he says, trying to not to excite his daughter. He then looks back at me.

"All right, Mister, what was it, Tellman? Why don't you _tell_ me what happened? Start at the beginning. When and where did you pick up your fare?"

I look over at Steve. At that moment, I really wish I had done my shift at the airport or at a hotel somewhere.

I begin. "It was at the hospital. He came out of the front door and flagged me down. He gave me this address and then hopped in the back. He didn't say anymore, but I could tell he was in a hurry. He didn't look too well, even then. Of course, he looks worse now."

Steve glances over to me and frowns. That is the first time we had eye contact since he left my cab. Mike notices the interaction and asks, "Does this match, Steve?"

"Yeah, he's the cabbie. He picked me up from the hospital."

I let out a breath of relief, but Mike ignores me.

"You left against medical advice, Buddy boy," he adds, almost scolding. I nod my head as I knew there something wrong with the guy when I picked him up. "But we'll talk about that later."

Mike turns his focus back to me. "All right, Mr. Tellman. Then what?"

"He said he didn't have his wallet, but could get the fare from the house. I watched him walk up to the door and knock. No one answered and I thought, `great, no wallet, no cash and no one home.' But then he opened the door and walked in. After a few minutes, he didn't come out. I got a living to make and I needed to get going, so I went up to the door to get the cash. It was partially opened, so I went in."

I take a hard swallow, remembering what I saw next. I am nervous and my mouth is suddenly dry, but I continue. "I saw some guy running out the back. Then I saw those two on the floor and then you walk in. All of this happened within a few seconds."

"Can you describe the man who left?" Mike asked.

"Maybe, I don't know. I can try."

"Okay, good enough." Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls the key to the cuffs. "I do want you to make a statement to either Detective Haseejian or Tanner before you leave. You got caught in the middle of something here and I'm sorry."

Relieved that I am no longer considered an accomplice, I rub my wrists and sit back on the sofa.

"So it's definitely Peter," Mike says aloud, more to the couple than to me. "Jeannie, I'm sorry. He seemed like a decent fellow. I don't know what happened."

"He's one of those insanely jealous types," Steve chokes. "After dinner here last night, Jeannie gave me a goodnight kiss on the cheek as I was leaving. It was nothing," he says and then looks over to the girl. I notice then he drops his eyes. Maybe not `nothing', I think, but that doesn't justify unleashing what happened here. "I think that was the last straw for him as far as I was concerned."

"Steve, save your strength," Jeannie interrupts. "I should have seen the signs, Mike. He was so controlling. He was trying to take me away from my friends."

"So he followed Steve home and knocked him out at his own doorstep. Thankfully his neighbor came home and got him to the hospital." Mike seemed to be piecing the story together as he spoke. "I'll tell you, Buddy boy, your neighbor calling me at midnight from the emergency room was the last thing I expected."

Steve nods slightly as Mike looks at the front door, willing the ambulance to arrive. Then a question strikes him. "Answer me this, Steve. It was dark and you didn't know who had hit you last night. How did you figure it was Peter?"

Steve lets out a painful chuckle. "Garlic."

"What?" Mike asks.

"Jeannie had made spaghetti for us, remember? And then she had garlic bread with it. So this morning, I'm lying in the hospital bed and I have this flashback and remember that I smelled garlic when I got hit."

"You know, you could have called," Mike counters almost dryly. "You didn't need to leave the hospital like that. I'm just grateful they called me when they found you missing and saw your note. All it said was 'Jeannie'."

Jeannie wraps her arm around Steve's shoulder and gives him a gentle hug. As pale as Steve was, I swear I see him blush.

"Yeah, well. I wasn't thinking. And Mr. Tellman is right. I didn't have my wallet or my badge. I just wanted to get here. The hospital was close by and he was kind enough to be at the front door when I came out."

I could swear I see a slight smirk on his face and then I roll my eyes. Kind enough? Next time, I'm definitely taking my shift at the airport.

Sirens interrupt my thoughts. The ambulance is finally here and I see one of the detectives I was told to talk to. I get up from the sofa to get out of the way so they can bring the stretcher over to Steve. I figure maybe I should go outside to wait when Mike yells out, "Mr. Tellman, how much does he owe you?"

"What?" I ask. Oh yeah, the fare. A whopping $2.50. Like Steve said earlier, the hospital was fairly close by. "Nevermind. You have other things to worry about. I'll give my statement and be on my way."

Mike walks over and shakes my hand. "Mr. Tellman, I see Detective Tanner there. He'll take care of you. And again, I'm sorry for the problems today." The angry eyes are still stressed and concerned, but I can tell that I am no longer the enemy to him. For me, that's a relief.

"No problem whatsoever. I'm sorry it happened and hope those two will be okay."

Mike nods his head thoughtfully and returns to the pair.

I watch the stretcher carrying Steve get loaded into the ambulance. Mike and Jeannie are not far behind. His arm is around his daughter, protecting her now and perhaps making up for the fact he wasn't there to protect her earlier. I see them follow Steve into the ambulance and take a seat. The doors close and they leave.

I realize then if I hadn't been at the hospital drop-off zone and taken Steve here, this Peter may have done something far worse to Mike's daughter. She's a cute girl who didn't ask for any of this. Most guys are decent, but every so often, a gal can come across a real winner. I realize then that perhaps I did have a part helping save this young girl today. Suddenly the $2.50 seem like chump change.

After making my statement, I get back in my cab. I flip my `available' switch on. I've lost an hour now, so I need to make up for it. I start for the more lucrative airport, but then do a u-turn and make my way back to the hospital drop off zone.

Being at the hospital mattered earlier this morning. It just may matter again. And besides, maybe I can find out how things turned out for those three – and if they need, I'll give them a ride home.


	8. Aloha From San Francisco

a/n: thanks again for the support on this collection of ficlets. They are fun to write and I never quite know where the story will lead. Like some of the other one-shots, I enjoy having Steve be a bit more obnoxious, especially when he teases Mike and Jeannie. This time it's Jeannie's turn...

**Aloha from San Francisco**

* * *

"Whatchya watchin'?" Steve asked playfully as he grabbed a handful of hot buttered popcorn from the large blue bowl sitting on the coffee table en route to the sofa. He glanced over to the young woman who sat cross-legged and entranced in front of the color console.

He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for the answer although he knew full well what his young companion was watching. He just wanted to hear her say it.

"I said, whatchya watchin'?" He smirked as he shot another glance at his companion. He caught her bright blue eyes gleaming at the image in front of her.

Still no response.

Amused, he tossed a piece of popcorn, aiming it at the top of her head. It reached its target, bounced and then landed on the floor.

No response.

Grinning, he took fire again. Aiming carefully at the part in the middle of her long brown hair, he closed one eye to ensure his aim was true. _Ready, aim, fire…_ The popcorn bounced on the floor after skimming the top of the young woman's hair.

This time, he chuckled softly and tossed another piece of popcorn. He repeated this action again and again with no acknowledgement from his companion. Before it was over, Jeannie Stone had no fewer than 14 pieces of popcorn surrounding her on the floor.

"Hey!" she protested, as a kernel finally fell in front of her, taking her attention away from the program. Looking around she proclaimed, "You made a mess! What are you doing here?"

"Well, nice to see you, Miss Stone," Steve replied indignantly. It was Easter break and Jeannie had come home just the day before. Generally, she was happy to see the young inspector, but at the moment, she wished nothing more than for him to go away.

"And you are greeting me by throwing popcorn my way?" Jeannie asked.

"Actually, I'm waiting for Mike. Your dad is upstairs taking a quick shower and changing clothes."

"I thought I heard him come in. Did something happen?" Jeannie relaxed a bit as a commercial break began.

"You could say that. He chased a suspect right into a dumpster. The guy wouldn't come out, so Iron Mike jumped right in." Steve chuckled at the memory of Mike vaulting over the side of a large metal dumpster and then coming back up covered in garbage.

"Where were you?"

"Just a few steps behind your dad," Steve began.

"Why didn't you jump in?" Jeannie squinted her eyes and wrinked her nose as she addressed her father's partner in a sing song voice. Her lone aim was to get a rise from the young man. "Isn't that why you're there?"

"What?" he responded, once again indignantly as he shook his head. "Oh, you think you're so smart. When your dad gets a wild hair, I can't stop him. Besides, these are new Italian boots," he said as he looked down. "I was taking them off, but your father jumped right on in before I could finish. I saw no reason for both of us to get soiled."

"You're a real prize," she sourly commented as she picked up the pieces of popcorn that surrounded her.

"Hey, the guy was unarmed and in a dead end ally. He panicked and realized he had no place to go when…"

"SHHHHHHHH!" Jeannie interrupted as she turned her attention back to the television. She waved her hand at Steve, as if he needed the gesture to tell him to quiet down. He dared not speak lest he subjected himself to the wrath of a very serious…Elvis fan.

"You like Elvis? I didn't see that coming. I would have pegged you more of a Stones' fan." Steve smirked at the unintentional pun.

"Shhh! He's amazing, now hush!" she whispered fiercely.

"Is this the Hawaii concert?" Steve asked almost innocently.

"Yes," Jeannie succinctly answered with an obvious tone of impatience in her voice.

"You know, that concert was actually taped back in January. It was on the same day as the Super Bowl, so it wasn't broadcast here like it was elsewhere."

"Yes, I know. I've waited three months to see this. Now, would you please be quiet?"

Steve smiled as he plotted. Knowing that opportunities to rile the young woman were few and far between, Steve measured his words carefully. His goal was to annoy and tease in as few words as possible.

"I always wanted to be a Jordanaire," he commented, referring to Elvis's well known back-up singers.

"Hush!"

"No, seriously, I did. One problem is that I can't sing. At least not like them. You know, in harmony and all."

"Stop," she pleaded. "I want to hear."

"Their clothes are pretty cool. Not like the King, of course. They're like mini-kings." He commented and repeated. "They're so cool."

"Zip it," she commanded.

"How many scarves does he have draped around his neck. I count one..two…three. And yet he's sweating! Someone should tell him that…"

"Those are Hawaiian leis. Now, shut up! SHUT! UP!" she protested loudly as she hurled the handful of popcorn she had picked up from the floor at the inspector. He sat stoicly as the popped kernels fell around him.

"Jeannie!" Mike said sharply as he descended the steps from his bedroom newly scrubbed and dressed.

"Mike, he…" Jeannie stood up quickly to face her father. She protested but was quickly cut off by her father. Steve rose from the couch and took his place behind Mike, primarily so that his partner could not see his grin. Unfortunately, Jeannie could.

Mike began to lecture. "I can't imagine what would possess you to behave like this, young lady." Steve nodded his head in agreement.

"Daddy, he was bothering me!" Jeannie countered.

"I was just making conversation," Steve said innocently as Mike turned to face him. When Mike looked back at his daughter, Steve squinted his eyes and smiled.

"You!" Jeannie began but then caught a glimpse of the King in the corner of her eye. She quickly shut her mouth, plopped back down on the floor in a sitting position and returned her attention to the TV set.

Mike stood to the side and looked back and forth between his partner and daughter. She looked furious. Steve looked guilty. _I don't want to know about this,_ Mike thought to himself.

"Let's get back to the station. We still have paperwork to do," Mike prompted as he walked over to the coat rack and grabbed another trench coat, identical to the one that was soiled in the dumpster. He opened the nearby hall closet door and pulled out another fedora.

"I know, I know. It can't wait until tomorrow morning. Good thing I didn't have anything else to do this evening," Steve said as he rolled his eyes. "Although we could stay here and watch the rest of Elvis."

"No!" Jeannie shouted.

Mike ignored the pair. "See you later, Sweetheart!" Mike called out but heard no reply. Steve noticed Mike look back at his daughter and shrug his shoulders.

"Don't be cruel, Jean. Say good-bye to Mike. It's now or never." Steve couldn't resist the final tease.

"Bye, Mike! Have a good evening and see you soon" she called out. "But not you, Steve. You're the devil in disguise," Jeannie mumbled, barely audible.

"Hard headed woman…" Steve responded.

"Hound dog!"

"Women always get the last word. I give up" Steve muttered as he walked out the door.

It was Mike's turn to roll his eyes. "C'mon. We don't have all night," he fussed, but couldn't help grinning at the bickering pair.

Epilogue: Jeannie came home the next day after an afternoon of grocery shopping. On the kitchen table, she found beautifully wrapped gift. It was square and flat with colorful wrapping and a bow. She checked the tag and saw simply written, "For Jeannie. From SK". She quickly unwrapped the gift and gasped as she saw an album cover with a white suited Elvis playing to the crowd.

It was a newly minted copy of "Aloha From Hawaii".

* * *

Elvis Presley: January 8, 1935 – August 16, 1977

"Hound Dog", "Hard Headed Woman", "Devil In Disguise", "It's Now or Never", and "Don't Be Cruel" were titles of a few of Elvis's many hits. Elvis gave the "Aloha from Hawaii" concert on January 17, 1973 and it aired in 40 countries in Europe and Asia the next day. Oddly, it was shown in the US on television months nearly three months later.


End file.
